


Practicalities

by tea_petty



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Forbidden Love, Sleepovers, Sneaking Around, Victorian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:54:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24231691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tea_petty/pseuds/tea_petty
Summary: Arthur has a secret sleepover with his lady love.
Relationships: England (Hetalia)/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35





	Practicalities

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-pettiest

The lord of the Graves estate was nothing if not a practical man, who often gave way to practical choices. 

Arthur could respect that. In fact, more often than not, Arthur worked actively to be this way, though admittedly, after centuries of being at sea among company that saw no issue in spitting, pissing, and cursing, this was more difficult than he’d initially gathered. 

It was for this very reason, that while Arthur fought and planned frantically against it, he could not entirely begrudge the man for trying to wed his ward off to a practical (read: boring) suitor. Or at the very least, someone home more often than a privateer like Arthur, someone with less blood on his hands and less of a target on his back – a fact he’d made all too clear to Arthur when he’d gone about trying to court the Graves’ ward the proper way. So much for following the rules.

It was about two years ago that Arthur had made his peace with this uncomfortable truth. Now, while the days passed in a flurry of notes passed between mutual friends and stolen glimpses from across the room, punctuated by the brief periods of reprieve where they could meet in person, Arthur could think of almost nothing else other than whisking her away. He dreamed of taking her across the ocean he so often traversed, to honest country where they could settle down and be strangers to the lord’s wishes.

He was almost as enamored with this fantasy as he was with she, herself, but then the bleak reality of his job would settle back in. Of his hideously long life ahead of him, and then he would think about the time they wasted now, and the emptiness he had to look forward to around these small breadcrumbs of happiness.

To Francis, Arthur’s hopes were as real as the air they breathed.

“You must go to her, _mon ami_ ,” he’d press, “life is too short to not seize _l’amour_ by the balls.”

Alfred and Matthew were of a similar school of thought, though perhaps more discretely. They hosted parties often; parties in which, coincidently, the young Mistress and Arthur were both invited. Tonight was a night of such occasion, and so it was with great excitement that Arthur shut himself in his private chamber at the house he’d only recently started appearing regularly in, to dress for the night’s dinner party. It was to be hosted at Matthew’s place; that meant several courses of his ankle grazing hers beneath the table – a secret waltz of their own beneath the petticoat of a tablecloth.

In his peripheral vision, his curtains flutter from a night draft sweeping into his room, and in his mind, it was instead the gown she would be wearing that night. If he closed his eyes, and the perfume of flowers from the garden outside felt so inclined, he could almost imagine it was the scent that caught in her hair and his fingers as he brought her in for a kiss.

He was building these fantasies up, so the reality of her could knock him off his feet that evening at dinner. 

Though fate, as it would seem, had other plans.

It was not the realness of her that struck him down from his dreamy tower, but instead his manservant.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said with a deep bow, “but the Lady –“ and they both knew which lady this was, for there was only one that Arthur could possibly care about –“will not be attending.”

Before Arthur could ask why on earth not, Boyer was holding a folded square of parchment out to him.

“Ah, yes, thank you.”

There was no seal on it – a signature in of itself. Inside, he was not surprised to find her handwriting; it was scripture more sacred to him than any of the Holy texts he’d been charged with keeping in his life:

_Dearest Arthur,_

_It pains me more than you can know to tell you that I’m unable to attend tonight’s event. Lord Graves has instead arranged for me to meet with a potential husband – a dreadful Mr. Sanderson. I know._

_He’s so terribly dull I’d rather pass an afternoon watching the flowers in the garden grow, than force conversation between us – something I delighted in telling you so tonight. However, Lord Graves hinted that Mr. Sanderson had plans to propose tonight –_

Arthur’s chest felt a swelling rush of panic; his hand shook so violently he almost dropped the letter.

_\- and the only way to stay my life sentence was to feign sick._

_My love, I fear our days are numbered._

_Do so write me soon to assure me they’re not, for my heart is already sorely and wholly yours._

_May I see you soon to tell you myself._

_All my love and greatest affections._

Arthur brushed his fingers over where she’d signed her name, her loopy handwriting leaving indents in the parchment that felt like footprints he could follow back to her.

He turned back to Boyer.

“You received this from…?”

“Mr. Jones’ man.”

“Good.”

Arthur reached for his coat and slipped the note into his pocket.

“Sir?”

“I’ll be going now Boyer, don’t wait up for me.”

“Yessir.”

The last word fell deafly to the door as it shut behind Arthur.

As to what exactly Arthur was thinking after reading the note and the choices that followed, it sufficed to say that he wasn’t thinking. Not in any coherent, productive manner, anyway. 

His mind was moving of course, running through the information, twisting and turning it in his head so that somehow maybe the words could go together again in a less awful way; but never could they be so achingly sweet if they weren’t aching. His mind was reeling, and he’d known better than to try and keep up. 

Instead, he let the whirlwind of thought carry him to what was a suspicious little corner of a neatly groomed property. He wasn’t as familiar with the grounds, seeing as he wasn’t terribly welcome there; but he knew someone who lived there well enough. 

Hence what made the corner so suspicious; not the corner itself per se, but Arthur making the corner suspicious by sneaking around, eyeing the trellis that stretched up, tangled romantically with some creeping vines, to the third story bedroom.

It was alight in yellow, practically glowing in the night. Visible through it, was a young woman - her - at her vanity. Arthur had half a mind to stand outside and watch her run that brush through her hair for the rest of his miserable existence – though it could hardly be so miserable if he got to see her

The shutters were open, casting an iridescent sheen over the worn stone directly on either side of the window. Arthur could hear a light voice humming to herself, and it shocked him into action. He grabbed at a rung on the trellis experimentally and gave it a sharp tug. 

The wood flexed audibly beneath his strain, but it felt sturdy enough.

Arthur allowed himself to clamber up one row on the trellis. 

Again, the creaking sound, but it held his weight. So far, so good. 

Arthur continued to make his way up, grabbing onto solid tangles of vine when it felt safer. He was quick and lithe, years of needing to act on his feet coming in handy now as he did something he’d only thought of every day and night for the past two years. 

The closer he got to her window, the more he let himself enjoy the trip up. The air was calm and brisk enough that it nipped life into his skin in bright patches of pink at his cheeks, nose, and the tips of his ears.

At last, at last he reached it, and while his grip on the awkward bulge of a stone window sill thrust out from the building was almost enough to send him to his painful, clumsy blunder, his fingers were strong from decades of sword use. He scrabbled for a hold until his upper body was securely over the sill – now he was peering rather unabashedly into his beloved’s room.

She was still at the vanity, brushing her hair. She peered at her reflection through half-lidded eyes; there was a tired slope to her shoulders.

“Positively radiant,” Arthur spoke, resting his chin on his hand.

She jolted, and the hairbrush dropped from her hand as she let out a startled yelp. 

“ _Sshh_! It’s _me_!” 

Her eyes were wide. Fearful, and then disbelieving. She rose slowly from her seat at the vanity and approached him cautiously. 

“Arthur?”

“Yeah,” he grinned, feeling his face heat. “Sorry to appear so unexpectedly – I just got your letter and-“

There was a sharp rap at her door, and both pairs of eyes flew to it, widening in alarm.

“Are you alright? I heard you scream.” 

The knob twisted, twitching slightly into a mechanical clicking sound – the door was locked, and thankfully so, as the voice had belonged to the Lord of the Graves estate.

“One moment papa!” she called out in a voice that was slightly too terse to be completely natural. To Arthur, she hissed; “ _Hide_!”

Arthur had wanted to crawl fully into her room and hide somewhere with perhaps a little more…floor. She was already moving towards the door though, entrusting him to find a hasty hiding spot. Arthur had no choice. He pinched his eyes shut, thought up a quick prayer, and scooted backward. His arms stung as he struggled to carefully lower himself over the sill again. It was again, awkward and bulky in his grasp. He jammed his fingers into the grooves between the stone, feeling dirt catch under his fingernails. He willed himself to be strong enough to hold on. 

And for Lord Graves not to look too closely at the window.

The sound of the door being unlocked clicked and Arthur found himself holding his breath. The stretching pain in his arms expanded down to his shoulders and neck. 

“Papa!” 

Her voice made his heart swell and at once Arthur forgot about his uncomfortable and rather precarious position.

“Are you alright?” Heavier footsteps tumbled into the room, a gait driven by suspicion. 

“I heard voices.”

“Voices?” She kept her own, light. “You must be so tired, really now. Tell me, who else do you see in this room?”

Arthur couldn’t hear anything for a few minutes, and he imagined the stoic Lord Graves surveying the room. His fingers prickled with a clammy sweat.

“You should retire for the night, Papa, it’s not good for you to fatigue yourself so.”

Arthur felt his arms start to shake.

“Hmph. Alright, yes, I think I will.” There was some rustling and a sound which Arthur figured was her chaste kiss at Graves’ cheek. “Good night.”

When the sound of the door shutting again reached Arthur, he took a deep breath, and struggled to climb up over the sill once more. His arms were shaking something terrible though and as he fought against most stubborn, natural forces to pull himself up. He registered his grip slip and felt a wild panic batter in his ribcage like a startled thrush. 

In the next instance, she was at the window, one foot braced at the wall, as she grabbed an arm and pulled him up and over. They shook together from exertion, and when Arthur finally made it through, he collapsed on her, his weight pinning her to the floor.

“Ah! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

She laughed, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him down so that she could feel his weight bearing down on her more fully.

At the feeling of her soft and beneath him he felt himself warm. 

She had never looked better than when she was sprawled on the floor under him – this revelation thrilled him.

Still though, Arthur prided himself in being a gentleman; not to mention, she was an unwed woman a couple of years younger than what those around him knew his age to be, as well as a respected figure in naval warfare. He couldn’t just throw himself at her – he might scare her off.

Arthur gently moved from her grasp, lifting himself off of her, before helping her up. She still glowed in the soft light of the room, and Arthur steeled inside of himself, resolving to love her chastely that night. 

He took her to bed – meaning, they sat beneath the silken canopy and she lay in his arms. Her fingers would trace the flats of his cheeks, or the ridge of his jaw and his eyes would flutter shut and revel in the luxury of her touch.

“Tell me about the places you’ve been,” she whispered, peeking at him from beneath the fringe of her lashes.

He told her about all of them; the warm places with trees that towered above the buildings in London, the different faces – so different, but also, not at all that different. Wherever he went, there were always women to be wed, mothers taking care of children, fathers supporting their families, and children growing up. 

She nodded into his chest, her finger tracing idle patterns against him.

“Hm.”

“What is it?” He looked down at her.

“Nothing really.”

He picked up her hand and pressed a kiss to it before replacing it on his chest. He didn’t let her resume her senseless patterns yet – instead, he held her palm to his heart.

“Tell me.”

She tried to keep her face impassive. This was only obvious to him because she looked to be taking great care not to meet his eyes.

“Did you meet a lot of new people?”

“Yeah,” he raised his eyebrows, a little surprised. “I met someone new at every port.”

She was quiet for a few moments.

“…Women?”

Heat prickled at his cheeks. 

“Some, yeah.”

“Oh.” 

Arthur held her a little tighter.

“There have been other women,” he said carefully. “But there aren’t anymore. Not since I’ve met you.” He brought one hand to her chin and tilted it up so that she had to look at him. His thumb brushed across her cheekbone. “Besides, none have bewitched me as you have.”

He felt a delicate heat gathering beneath his fingers at her face. 

She watched his eyes, then his lips, then his eyes again. 

Arthur’s eyes shut as she leaned in to kiss him, her lips soft. 

She tasted every bit as sweet as he remembered. He wondered if that was natural – he couldn’t imagine it was, though somehow every time he kissed her, there was that underlying taste. It was intoxicating; his lips moved more fervently against hers. 

He could feel her breath start to pick up, as the rise of her chest brushed his more frequently.

“Will you…stay the night with me?” she sighed against him.

His forehead was against hers, and he nosed her affectionately.

“I’ll stay as long as you’d like.”

He felt some of the tension leave her body. “Then,” she looked questioningly to him. “We can get ready for bed?”

He kissed the tip of her nose.

“Sure.”

The wash basin, he found well enough beside the vanity; a white bowl, rimmed in gold, trailing whimsical blue and pink flowers along the circumference. 

Arthur loosened his cravat and removed his coat, draping both along the back of the chair. He dunked his hands into the bowl and rinsed his face; at once he was struck by the rosy perfume – this must’ve been what made her so sweet. 

He felt a squeeze in his chest; it felt so intimate, to be in her bedroom, to use her things. Across the room, behind the light changing screen, he could make out her shapely silhouette. Her day dress, corset, and chemise were slung over the top. 

The squeezing sensation tightened; never had they ventured past the layers of daylight politeness and sensibility; always separated by coats, and gloves, respectable distances, chaperones, and of course, the pressure she faced to be married.

God, what he wouldn’t give to take care of her for the rest of her life. 

“Arthur?”

“I’m still here, love.”

He hadn’t realized the room had been quiet since they’d separated to get ready for bed. Arthur perched at the edge of the bed and removed his boots.

She stepped out from behind the changing screen, taking care to put out the lights on her way back and Arthur did a double-take. It was just a simple, white nightgown, with some lace by the collar; though, and Arthur was no expert in such matters, was it just him, or had it seemed particularly _thin_?

He’d like to have thought himself better than some of the younger, more hot-blooded suitors she had, but seeing her then and there, he felt stricken with the urge to take her in his arms, and then some.

She curled up beside him, and he was hyperaware of how warm she still was, even through both of their layers of clothes.

The slope of her shoulder disappeared beneath the thin fabric, and only barely, like the shore melted into the water. He could still see her skin swimming just beneath the fabric. He was stricken again - this time, by how beautiful she was. He ached to see more of her.

She rolled over so she was facing him on her side.

“I wish every night could be like tonight,” she whispered in the dark.

The tightness in his chest expanded to his throat. For a few moments, he couldn’t get the words out.

“We could run away,” he mused, only sort of joking, and for the sake of not having his feelings hurt.

She sighed and sagged against him.

“We’d have to have a small wedding – barely a wedding at all.” Her lips were pursed into an endearing smile. “I wouldn’t mind though.”

“Even if there was no one else there to see it, you’d still be the most beautiful bride.” 

Of that, he was abundantly sure.

“We would have a small home – by the water, so you could go sailing if you’d like.”

Her words were a spell that unfolded the most delirious of images in his head. A cottage on the water, their fingers twined in the light of the milky dawn. Children?

Her hands - the ones outside of his dreams - reached for his, fingers curling between his.

“You could come with," he said.

He’d never told her this, but the water itself had held very little charm to him since he’d met her. The ocean, normally an extension of his pride, and a badge of honor he gleaned from all coasts, had grown hollow the longer he’d spent at sea and away from her.

“I’ll always go with you.”

She squeezed his hand.

“Then by all means love, let’s run away together.”

She smiled and cuddled closer to him, pressing her face into his chest. 

“Let’s.”

Her eyes were dreamy; vast, and seemingly limitless like the ocean themselves. He wondered if she was thinking of their coastal home, wondered if she could taste the brine in the air. In his head, he was calculating how far they could make it if they'd left now. He wondered if she was a good climber. 

All of this was running through his mind, though as her breathing evened out, and her hold on him grew lax, he knew, no one was going anywhere - at least not for tonight.


End file.
